Musings on an old wooden spoon

The spoon pictured to the left is at least 40 years old. Older than my son. Older than my relationship with JB. I purchased it when I moved into my first apartment in Chicago. It is the utensil of choice when I am cooking. The handle used to be straight, but because I am right-handed, the heat from the frying pan while I am sauteeing has gently curved the handle toward a soft crescent shape. Its bowl is dark from almost daily contact with oils and sauces. Just tonight, as I was sauteeing onions and tomatoes for this evening’s omelette, I found myself admiring this spoon’s heft, stains, history, and shifting grain.

This spoon is, of course, a warm reminder of my life’s nurturing and cooking— for friends, for family, for self. It is aging like I am and I am quite sure it will outlast me. One day it may find itself in an old cardboard box at a garage sale and when not purchased, which it certainly will not be, will be tossed into a garbage can where it will become part of a landfill somewhere.

If lucky, it will slowly decompose into the earth, still with so much function left to stir, blend, and agitate.

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5 Responses to Musings on an old wooden spoon

  1. Wow, what stories that spoon could tell!

  2. Magnificent, moving, creative look at life and aging and death. This is what I admire in you!

  3. Jerome Bloom says:

    I
    DONOT
    BELIEVE
    IB
    WOULD
    ALLOW
    SPOON
    TO
    RECYCLE
    THIS
    WAY

    MY
    VISION
    ISA
    LEFTHANDED
    GREAT
    GRANDCHILD

    COOKING
    SPOON
    INTO
    ITS
    REVERSE
    CURVE

  4. Bindu John says:

    Wow! I liked this post very much. I could relate very well to the topic. Such thoughts may seem silly to some. But the feelings we have for certain things, that have been with us for a long time, is really special and inexplicable. The last two paragraphs are really touching.

  5. Louisemarion says:

    Oh how simple objects hold our life stories

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